nothing
by Stephanie McGee
Summary: won't let me delete this story for some reason. pffft.


**Alive Again;**

**A Phantom of the Opera Story**

**By **

**Stephanie McGee**

_Disclaimer: I do not own or presume to have rights over any of previously created characters in this story. It is not my wish to infringe upon the works of Andrew Lloyd Webber or Gaston Leroux, merely to expand upon them. _

"_It's over now, the Music of the Night_!"

As the words I never dreamed I would utter fell from my lips I could feel my heart dying in my chest. How could this be real? Christine, my beloved songbird, my angel, was leaving me once and for all. I could hear her sweet voice as she floated away in the skiff, singing to that _clod _Raoul the words I so longed to hear.

The shattering of glass wasn't even enough to drown out her voice. It echoed in my head as I thrust the leaden candelabra through the mirrors that lined my lair. One after another, shard after shard, this one act of rage was all I had left in the world. I reveled in the smashing of my image, the face that had brought me a lifetime of pain.

My chest was heaving when I came to the final mirror. Without hesitating I raised the velvet curtain and destroyed the last bearer of my effigy, knowing full well what I would find behind it's callous exterior.

Many years ago, when I first came to live at the opera house, the place that became my magnificent lair was but a vacuous, moldering expanse. I shaped it and crafted it in my image, made it inhabitable. I designed the organ where I composed my _magnum opus_, _Don Juan Triumphant_! I implemented a series of clever and elaborate traps for any would be intruders.

As for the space behind the mirror; I can't explain why but I never touched it. I discovered it one night while I was plotting exactly where my sleeping arrangements would be. As I was inspecting the wall some loose stones gave way and revealed a wide and empty cavern. Looking up I could see a sewer grate from the above street. Looking below there was a sharp drop off, a cliff almost, that fell about twenty feet.

There was something sacred about that place. The idea of suicide was never far from my mind, and I thought that if I _were_ to die by my own hand one day, what better place to do it than a mysterious hole in the bowels of the most magnificent city on earth, where no one would ever find my remains? So I left it alone and barricaded it with my mortal enemy; my reflection.

And here I was again, greeted by the smell of rancid water from the darkness. I breathed it in deeply, listening to the last lilting notes of Christine's voice as they faded away. Then I stepped mechanically over the broken glass and breached the short distance to the drop off. I didn't look back. I didn't weep. I walked unceremoniously over the edge and waited for the impact.

So much terror! So much misery! The Opera Populaire, the cultural epicenter of Paris, the place where I grew up, has been annihilated. It burns even now, as the mob races to find the monster responsible for this madness, the Opera Ghost.

Everywhere there is chaos; Carlotta is weeping over the strangled body of her lover, Piangi. The great chandelier has crashed to the ground and now lies in a million sparkling pieces, with God knows how many victims trapped beneath. Audience members, dancers, musicians and stagehands alike are running frantically in all directions, like a brood of chickens all with their heads cut off.

I stand in the middle of it all, too dazed to move. I wonder vaguely where my mother has gone, if she's all right. But the image of that man, that _face_, has me cemented where I stand.

To think, what could have been a masterpiece has turned into a disaster…

It all started about a month ago. Things in the opera house had been askew ever since Christine's debut performance and subsequent disappearance, so a production of our old standby, _Faust_, was underway. We were in the middle of rehearsal when our managers burst in, with the Vicomte de Chagny in their company.

"Ladies, Gentleman…as of this moment, all preparations for the production of _Faust_ are hereby cancelled. Instead, we shall debut a new, never before seen opera," Andre said abruptly. Firmin handed a thick, black and oddly familiar portfolio to our exasperated conductor. The poor man took one look at the cover and nearly fainted.

"_Don Juan Triumphant! _Monsieurs, you _must _be joking!"

"On the contrary, monsieur Reyer, we have never been more serious. You _will_ put on this show and, what's more, opening night is March 15th." With a unsympathetic wave of his hand Firmin turned away.

"But…That's less than a month from now!" Reyer wailed after him.

"Then you'd better get started!" He called over his shoulder. The conductor violently rubbed his forehead and muttered something under his breath. Then he looked up and beckoned my mother.

"Come, Madame Giry. Lets retire to my office and see what sort of circus this is going to be. And bring Jean Pierre and Felicia as well, hmm?" My mother gave a sharp, silent nod and went to fetch the head tailor and set designer, leaving the rest of us standing uselessly on stage. I felt a tug at my skirt and turned to see Babette, one of our newest dancers, standing fearfully beside me. Her grey eyes were wide and her skin ghostly pale. In her long, delicate fingers she clutched a golden crucifix that hung around her throat.

"_Don Juan Triumphant!_ Isn't that what the Opera Ghost composed? I remember, he had it at the masque! How can they think of staging it, Meg? Couldn't it bring some sort of black magic on us all?" I shrugged but said nothing. I had no time for these childish superstitions. And I was dying to see what was in that portfolio.

That night I tiptoed out of the dormitory and crept deftly to my mother's room, as I had done so many times before. Without a sound I turned the knob of her door and slipped in. I stood still for a moment, listening to her breathing. It was slow and even, she was asleep. I stepped lightly across the room and opened the third drawer of her boudoir, where she kept her keys. Taking care to press them flat in my hands to prevent any unwarranted clanging, I lifted them out, grasped them to my chest and exited in the same fashion.

When I reached Reyer's small office I was pleased to see that no light shone beneath his door- the room was empty. I had feared that he would be working late, what with the production so near at hand, but he was gone and I was free to peruse the Opera Ghost's creation.

I lit a single candle and sat at his desk, tracing my fingers lightly over the embossed leather cover of the portfolio. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled as I gently opened it, and I was immediately awed by the first page.

The music itself was a phenomenon. Scrawled in a thick, slanting hand it was more complex than anything I'd ever seen before. As I flipped excitedly through the pages and skimmed the lyrics, I discovered that the Opera Ghost had written little more than a glorified sexual fantasy! A bait and switch tale of seduction, where a devious lord plots the deflowering of an innocent yet savory young serving girl that he's had his eye on.

But the Ghost hadn't simply written words and music- included with his score was a complete set of designs; scenery, costumes, he even wrote a personal note to my mother detailing the exact choreography for the dancers. He had meticulously left no room for any other interpretations of _his_ masterpiece.

My heart raced as I studied his designs. The color themes he used most predominantly were a sensual red and inky black. I had danced in many ballets and worn an array of costumes, but these were perhaps the most lusty compositions I'd ever seen. They left very little to the imagination. My breath became increasingly labored and a gradual flush spread over my cheeks as I delved deeper into this cross section of the Opera Ghost's torrid imagination. Suddenly I was aware that I was not alone. I can't explain how, but I could _feel him _watching me. A cold tingle ran up my spine when I heard his voice out of no where, yet so close it could have been right at my ear.

"It isn't polite to go through one's personal items without asking, Meg dear. And prying is a quality most unattractive in a woman."

I leaped from my seat and turned wildly about the room but nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

"Where are you? Show yourself!" Silence.

"You may have everyone else in a mad dither over your hauntings, Ghost, but you don't scare me. You're not a ghost at all, you're a man! Perhaps even a coward. This work of yours, it's genius. If you'd quit behaving like a crazy fool and come out of the shadows you would earn the respect you so desire!"

I heard a deep, sad laughter that echoed quietly through the room. It's tones were so melodic and melancholy, they resonated right through me and nearly reduced me to tears.

"If it were only that simple…" As he spoke a breeze blew swiftly across the room, though the window was closed. It blew the candle out and shut the pages of his composition in one fell swoop.

Oddly, I was without fear. I knew he wouldn't hurt me. I picked up my mother's keys and backed out of the room, feeling a sort of pity for this creature that had caused such a horrendous uproar over that last few months.

Nothing else out of the ordinary happened as we prepared for the opening night of _Don Juan Triumphant!_ In fact, it was blissfully quiet. Carlotta had accepted her role as a background character and made no fuss about it. I think she rather liked her trampish costume and the fact that she could at least show off some part of herself, even if it wasn't her voice.

It wasn't until opening night itself that I sensed an aura of tension in the opera house. There was a fleet of armed guards lining up in the grand hall, the managers were stiff and ill at ease. Even my mother was short of temper with me; it was as though something terrible loomed in the air and there was nothing anyone could do to prevent it.

I found Christine in her dressing room, struggling to lace up the back of her black corset. I smile and offered to help her. She pursed her lips and agreed. I could tell she was terribly nervous.

"You'd better not bend over in this thing," I said with a chuckle as I finished lacing her up. "You'll give all of the Paris elite a splendid view of your knockers!"

This brand of bawdy humor was somewhat of a routine Christine and I went through before a big performance, I suppose to alleviate our nerves. Usually I could get her into a good fit of giggles right up to the point where we would walk on stage, but tonight she would not even crack a smile. I sighed and gently took her hand.

"What's wrong, Christine? I know it's not just your nerves, so you might as well tell me."

As she looked into my eyes I could see that hers held an unspeakable terror, much like that of hunted animal.

"Oh, Meg…I'm so frightened!"

She told me how the Phantom, whom she formerly believed to be her Angel of Music, was obsessed with her- dangerously obsessed. I had known there was some scandal between Christine and the Opera Ghost but it had been so long since she had confided in me that I didn't know any of the details. She told me about the time she spent in his lair, how he existed only in brutal extremities of passion, there was no grey area with the Phantom, no middle ground. He wanted Christine all for himself and no one else could have her. She told me how his face was terribly disfigured, and that this malady must be the source of his relentless madness. Finally, she told me that our production of his opera was but a ruse. Raoul meant to use her as bait to lure the Phantom out of hiding and she was afraid that the plan would fail and the Phantom would instead capture her, once and for all. When she was done speaking she looked at me with pleading eyes, begging for some sort of reassurance. I didn't know what to say to her.

"Don't worry, Christine. Did you see all of the guards in the grand hall? Your fiancé has practically the entire French military assembled here. There's no way that the Phantom could possibly abduct you tonight. You're safe, dear." I reached for a nearby vase and plucked out a deep, red rose and tucked it behind her ear. "You look lovely…Don't worry anymore, alright?" She smiled faintly and nodded. I embraced her quickly then ushered her out the door. It was show time.

I knew the moment I heard him sing that the Phantom had joined us on stage. Never had I heard such a resounding voice…It was deep, booming, it went right to my core. I recognized his taut physique as he strode across the set; it was most certainly the same man who held everyone at the masque captive as he descended the grand staircase. As he pounced upon Christine and roared his lyrics into her ear, running his hands over the length of her body, the stage practically vibrated with his passion. Everyone in the auditorium was enthralled with their performance. And Christine certainly didn't _seem_ afraid at that moment. I rather think that truly, in her heart, she was in love with the Phantom. Or at least wanted to shag him.

As they stood together atop the platform, center stage, time seemed to stop. Even the musicians ceased to play as the Phantom sang to Christine, begging for her love.

Then she did the unthinkable. She ripped off his mask, exposing the most vulnerable part of himself to the world. The audience erupted with cries of horror at the sight of him. I think it was cruel, what she did. Unnecessary, too. At anytime she could have signaled the guards to take him away and dispense with the charade but she played him right until the end, toying with his ardor for her. But the Phantom was not to be outdone. In the midst of the tumult He and Christine plummeted _through_ the platform and were swallowed up by the stage floor! At the moment they vanished the great chandelier fell in a thunderous crash and all hell broke loose.

So here I stand as my world burns to the ground, all because of a lonely, twisted man and a selfish, indecisive girl. It occurs to me suddenly that my mother could be in very real danger. It's no secret that she has some strange connection to the Phantom. If the outraged mob can't find him, they very well could strike out at her.

My heart racing, I quickly rush backstage and doff my revealing costume in exchange for a blouse and pants in which I can easily run, if need be. Then I race after the mob, who have somehow discovered an entryway into the very recesses of the opera house. I push to the front of them as they shout for the Phantom's blood.

"_Track down this murderer! He must be found!"_

We reach an underground lake. I wade through and see what surely must be the Phantom's lair- there are candles everywhere, surrounding a huge organ. I climb out of the water to get a closer look at this nest of madness. There, in the corner, is a waxen manikin that exactly resembles Christine, though it hangs limply without dress. There are papers and drawings scattered everywhere, a beautiful lacey veil cast down to the floor.

In the corner of my eye I see something white resting on the ground. It's the Phantom's mask. I pick it up and feel it's smooth, almost flesh-like, surface. _What in God's name happened here? _Broken glass litters the floor, from a line of smashed mirrors that hang on the Phantom's walls. Curiously, one of them seems to be the entrance to a tunnel of some sort. I set the mask down and approach it, tentatively sticking my head in the opening. It's pitch black but I can feel that the space is immense. Then, a milky stream of light materializes. My heart skips a beat at first, for it looks like a specter forming out of the darkness. Then I realize that I'm seeing the moon shining through a sewer grate. I follow the beams of light down with my eyes, down a drop of about fifteen or twenty feet, when I see the form of a body in a heap on the ground! For a moment I fear that it's Raoul, or even Christine, but then I see that it's the Phantom. His breaths are slow and painful, but he breaths none the less.

Without thinking I exit the chamber and turn to the mob, who are shamelessly demolishing what's left of the lair.

"Look, they've gone. No one's here! We'd best get out of this place before it burns to the ground and we're all trapped inside. Let the police worry about the Phantom." They all mutter their grudging assent and begin to exit, taking bits and pieces of the Phantom's possessions with them. I watch them go, waiting until the light from their torches is but a faint flicker on the dark walls. Then, a cold hand clasps my shoulder and I gasp. It's my mother.

My heart leaped into my throat and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes as I looked upon my mother's pale face. I hugged her tightly to my chest.

"I was so worried about you! I was afraid they would come after you!"

"No, no. I'm fine. Come, let's help him." I followed my mother as she approached the line of mirrors and proceeded to try and pry one off the wall.

"What are you doing?" I asked, standing agape.

"We have to carry him out of here, he needs to see a doctor immediately! We'll have to move him on this," She gestured to the flat wooden back of the mirror that she now held under her arm.

"But…he's fallen at least fifteen feet! There's no way that you and I alone could pull him out of that pit."

"We don't need to pull him out, come, we waste too much time standing here debating about it!"

She walked quickly to the mirror that lead to the cavern. With a determined air she edged along the inner wall, away from the ledge, wordlessly motioning for me to follow. As we pressed forward I could see that as we walked the land sloped gently downward, until finally we reached the bottom of the pit. The faint light from the sewer grate still shone on his slumped form and I noted that he was lying face down. Mother ran to his side and gently rolled him over so that he was on his back. My breath caught in my throat when I saw his face; it was even more chilling up close than it had been from my vantage point on the stage. Mother shot me a stern glare.

"Don't just stand their gawking at him, help me get him onto the board!"

I took hold of his legs and mother grasped his shoulders. Together we slid him onto our makeshift gurney and arranged him so that he was perfectly flat. He made no sound or movement as we labored over him. Something glinted in my peripheral vision, a shining object that had reflected the miniscule light in the cavern. Looking down I saw that the Phantom wore a diamond ring on his little finger.

"Is he still alive?" I whispered.

"Oui, for now. We must hurry. Go over to the south wall. You will find a door that opens to a long tunnel, it leads to the streets. That is how we will exit. Go open the door."

I found the door easily enough. Opening it was another matter.

"It's rusted shut!" I yelled over my shoulder as I tugged at it fruitlessly.

"See if you can jar it with a rock, _hurry_!" As I searched for a stone to bash the iron hinges with, I heard my mother speaking in hushed tones to the Phantom.

"Don't worry, _Mon cher petit frère, _I'm going to take care of you."

I couldn't believe it! My mother called this murderer, this _monster_ her brother? I was beginning to realize that she had a slew of secrets hidden deep within her heart, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know what they were.

After a few minutes of battering the door with a rock I managed to open it and was greeted by utter blackness on the other side. I rushed back over to my mother and somehow we managed to lift the board and carry the Phantom through the darkness all the way to the obscure opening in the streets. I knew my mother was strong- she's a dancer, she had to be strong, but I had no idea she was capable of this feat.

It was freezing outside. A light snow was falling and none of us were wearing proper attire to thwart the bitter cold. Luckily, mother was able to hail a passing carriage. She took her purse from her skirts, shoved a few francs into the driver's already open hand and instructed him to take us to the nearest hospital. Abandoning the wooden plank, he helped us lift the Phantom's limp body into the back of the carriage. My mother managed to hide his face with her hands as we did so. Then he climbed back into his seat and we sped off for the hospital.

When we got there I rushed into the main hall and summoned the aid of several orderlies who were standing by. They brought out a proper stretcher and hoisted the Phantom on to it. They stepped quickly, though ground was icy, and soon the ailing man was placed in a bed in a dark, sequestered corner of the hospital awaiting examination. He was still unconscious.

Within minutes of our arrival a young, handsome physician came to our aid. He made a quick bow to my mother and I, introducing himself as Doctor Henri Morcef. Then took out his stethoscope, opened the front of the phantom's shirt and listened intently to his heart beat.

"Good…good. His pulse is strong. Now, Madame…?"

"Giry."

"Ah, Madame Giry. Can you tell me what exactly happened to this man?" My mother wore a stony expression, she was neither flustered nor apprehensive. Without faltering she answered the doctor's question.

"My brother went up on our roof to fix a leak. He fell from a height of about twenty feet. We found him, unconscious." The doctor nodded and turned back to his new patient. It must have been the first time he really looked at the Phantom, for he uttered a shocked gasp.

"My God…what happened to his face?" Ever ready, my mother had an answer for that too.

"When we found him he was lying face down in the snow."

"He must have been lying there for quite some time, that's the most severe case of cyanosis I've ever seen…" He gently touched the Phantom's face with the tips of his fingers and cringed. Then, as if waking from a dream, he shook his head and continued with the examination. After prodding at his abdomen for several minutes, Doctor Morcef's brow furrowed.

"I'm afraid, Madame Giry, that your brother is going to need immediate exploratory surgery. Several of his ribs are broken, his belly is hard as a rock, and I'm worried that he may be bleeding internally as a result of organ damage sustained in the fall. Now, do you know if he hit his head?"

"No, monsieur. I didn't see him fall." Doctor Morcef sighed.

"Then we may be dealing with a blunt head injury as well." He signaled to several nearby orderlies, who came and released the lever that held the bed in place.

"I'll be performing the surgery myself. I'll send a nurse down to keep you abreast of your brother's condition every few hours or so. In the meantime you can wait in the recovery ward. Marie will take you there." He gestured to a white clad nurse who came to his side. I discretely removed the diamond ring from the Phantom's finger, fearful that some avaricious individual might steal it as they attended to him. Then he and the orderlies wheeled the bed out of the room and down the hall.

I followed my mother and the nurse numbly. Now that I'd had a few moments to take everything in, I couldn't believe I'd aided in the escape of a murderer. When we reached the recovery ward Marie took us to a small room that held several cots. I sat wearily down on the end of the one closest to me.

"Madame, mademoiselle, you may rest here. If there's any change with your brother someone will let you know. Can I get you anything?"

Mother gave me a questioning glance. I shook my head; the only thing I wanted at that moment was to think.

"No, we're fine. Thank you." A sharp breeze blew through the open window at the far end of the room. Marie walked past my mother and shut it.

"I suppose you ladies heard of the disaster at the Opera Populaire tonight, hmm?" She asked casually. We said nothing.

"Such a tragedy, the beautiful auditorium is completely destroyed."

"Was anyone killed? You know, when the chandelier fell?" I asked, trying to sound curious and not guilty. Mother shot me a warning glare.

"As far as I know only one person died under the chandelier; a society woman. Rich, well fed…" The nurse sniffed suggestively. "Other than that there were a few injuries, nothing very serious. Oh, and that tenor, Piangi, I heard he was murdered. The gossip is that the chandelier's crash was no accident either, it was the work of the Phantom of the Opera! I also heard he made off with that new singer, Christine Daae. Have you ever heard such a scandalous-"

"My daughter and I do not participate in such trite pursuits as _gossip." _

"Oh…of course. Well, good evening, then." The nurse replied curtly, turning on her heels to go out the door. When she was gone my mother came to sit by me.

"You look terrible. What's the matter?" She gently brushed a strand of fallen hair away from my face.

"Mother…what are we doing? Why are we going to such great lengths to help that man? Sneaking out of the opera house, lying to the doctor…why?" She looked away, unsure of how to answer my questions.

"You've aligned yourself with this so-called Opera Ghost. You're devoted to him. I demand that you tell me why!" I cried. The reality of everything we'd gone through in the last several hours was hitting me like a violent wind and I wanted answers.

"_Ma fille…_I never meant for it to go this far…" She sighed and told me of that dark night from so long ago, when she and a group of her fellow ballet students went to a gypsy carnival. They beheld many grotesque oddities that night, things meant to shock, horrify and entertain. But when they came to a tent that held what was dubbed the "Devil's Child", my mother was struck with pity rather than fright. There she saw a small boy, several years younger than herself, made the butt of cruel laughter all because of his malformed face. He was jeered at, beaten, treated worse than even an animal ought to be. All of her friends laughed at this wretched creature but mother wanted to cry. Then, by some queer twist of fate, the boy chanced to take the upper hand against his captor. When everyone had exited the tent and the greedy bastard sat counting his money, the boy quickly seized the fiend by the neck with a length of rope and choked the life out of him. But the boy was no cold blooded killer. As soon as the act was finished he stood helplessly over the body, looking pleadingly at my mother with his mismatched eyes staring out the holes of his burlap mask. Without thinking, overcome by the urge to protect this pitiful creature who was all alone in the world, mother grabbed his hand and ran.

"It was I who brought him to the opera house. I sheltered him from the world, protected him all these years. Perhaps all this is my fault…" She bowed her head and sighed.

"If you believe that then how can you go on protecting him?" I responded indignantly.

"What would you have me do? Turn him over to the police? Have him sent to an asylum? Do you have any idea what they do to people in those places, Meg? He'd be beaten, spat on…just like when he was a child."

"Perhaps that's what he deserves! Are you forgetting how many people have died at his hand?"

"No! He is not a murderer. He only kills when he feels threatened-" "Like an animal. Look, I know you feel responsible for him, but the longer you continue to coddle him-" She rose brusquely and turned to face me, hands on her hips.

"It's not that simple! I'm not merely responsible for him, I am indebted to him!"

"Indebted? How?" As her tale took yet another unexpected twist I could feel myself growing ever more irritable.

"When your father died, Lefevre would have gladly cast me out and replaced me with a younger ballet instructor. If it weren't for Erik's influence you and I would have been begging in the streets of Paris for our bread!"

"Erik, that's his name?"

"Oui."

"So he helped you! You're even, then! You saved his life and he saved yours. You can go your separate ways."

"You owe him your life too, Meg." She had dropped her defensive airs and stood staring at me, gazing deeply into my eyes as if trying to conjure some forgotten memory. I turned uncomfortably away from her stare.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do…think; that summer when you were four years old. The sun was setting, I'd taken you for a walk along the path behind the opera house stables but you wandered off..." In a flash my memories picked up where her voice left off.

"…I wanted to see the horses. I snuck into the pen where several of them roamed freely. The stable boys saw me…they thought it would be funny to give me a scare, so they found a great, hairy spider and threw it at me. It landed on my arm and I shrieked…my screams frightened the horse I had been petting. He reared up and would have surely trampled me, but suddenly a pair of strong arms grasped me from behind and lifted me easily out of the way. I don't remember being carried out of the stable, but I do remember looking up the massive, shadowy figure who stood over me in the grass. 'The stables are no place for a little girl to play, Meg dear.' His voice was deep, but not harsh. He may have even been amused. His gloved hand reached down to dry my tears. I was about to thank him but I turned when I heard you calling my name desperately. When I turned back, he was gone." I paused for a moment, trying to see the face of the man from my memory.

"Are you telling me that was the Phantom?" I asked finally. Mother smiled faintly and nodded.

"He was your guardian angel that day. Now I need you to be his."

I breathed in deeply and buried my face in my hands. She came nearer and placed one of her cold, ivory hands on my arm.

"Please…"

"What?"

"Help me take care of him? He really isn't an evil man…loneliness can eat away at the very core of what makes us human. It can warp the mind and make it's victim seem to be sinister, but truly he is just a pathetic, lost soul. He has no one." Again I remembered those strong arms pulling me away from death. Surely a fiend wouldn't perform such a heroic act?

"Fine…I'll help you." I said with a sigh of resignation.

It was still dark when Marie came back to our room. I drowsily watched her as she spoke to my mother, only half aware of what she was saying.

"…he's out of surgery now. Dr. Morcef has asked me to bring you to him, so that he can inform you of your brother's condition in person." Mother rose quickly. If she was tired she certainly didn't show it.

"Come, Meg." I pulled myself unwillingly out of bed and followed them down the painfully white, sterile hallway, to the patient area of the recovery ward. Dr. Morcef stood at the end of Erik's bed writing on a chart. Erik was still unconscious. His white blouse and black trousers were gone, replaced with a pale blue hospital gown. The top of his head and the deformed portion of his face were covered wrapped in white bandages. Mother gasped when she saw him.

"What have you done to his face?"

"Ah, Madame Giry. Good morning. I applied some ointment to the lesions on your brothers face. Hopefully it will reduce the cyanosis, though there will likely be some permanent damage to his facial tissue. But his face is the least of his worries right now." At this my mother and I exchanged a quick look of uncertainty.

"Well, how is he?" I urged impatiently.

"We successfully repaired the internal damage to his organs, though we did have to remove his spleen. Surprisingly, aside from two cracked ribs and several other minor skeletal fractures, he didn't have any broken bones. My main concern is his head. Since you didn't know if he'd hit it in the fall or not, I went ahead and performed a procedure called external ventricular drainage to relieve his intracranial pressure. You see, the danger with blunt head injuries lies in the swelling that occurs in the brain afterward. It can lead to a stroke or a coma, even. The procedure reduces the swelling."

"Then he's going to be alright?" Mother's eyes trailed nervously over Erik's sleeping form as she spoke.

"Unfortunately at this point, all we can do is wait. Several tests I performed earlier indicated that he has brain function, but it's still too early to give a prognosis."

"If there's nothing else you can do for him, I'd like to take him home." The doctor widened his eyes incredulously at my mother's request.

"Madame, your brother has just undergone major surgery. He isn't nearly stable enough to be moved! He must stay here, were he can be closely observed!"

"He can be observed at home."

"He could _die_ at home!"

"Then so be it. If he dies it will be among those who care for him, not strangers. This isn't a prison, you cannot force him to stay." The doctor shook his head in an exasperated manner and rubbed his temples with the pads of his fingers.

"Understand, good lady, that if you leave here neither I nor the hospital can be held responsible, should anything go wrong."

"I understand. And I wish to arrange for his transfer immediately."

Within an hour Erik was bundled tightly in woolen blankets and loaded into a medical transport carriage. As the orderlies secured his gurney, I pulled mother off to the side were we could speak privately.

"Where exactly _is _home, mother? Certainly not the opera house?"

"Of course not. You remember your great aunt Alberta, don't you? When she died two years ago she left her estate to me. We will take him there, no one will know."

The house my mother spoke of was south of Paris, just outside of Orleans. It was more of manor than a house, really. My great aunt Alberta's husband was a highly decorated general of the French army and their house had been a retirement gift. It sat on a vast expanse of land in the middle of a forest, the nearest village was miles away. It was the logical hiding place for a man wanted for murder.

We were climbing into the carriage after Erik when Dr. Morcef came running down the icy path. Under his arm he held a large black bag.

"Wait, here!" He thrust the bag into my mother's arms. "Pain medicine, fresh bandages, more ointment, and a few other things you might need. There's a chance he could develop a post-operation infection, so keep a constant eye on his temperature!" He spoke breathlessly and wore a genuine expression of concern on his fatigued face. My mother set the bag on the floor of the carriage and clasped Dr. Morcef's hands in hers.

"Thank you, doctor." He nodded and stepped back from the side of the street, allowing us to depart.

The moon shone full in the sky when we finally arrived at Alberta's house later that night. It made the snow glisten under my feet as I approached the front door to notify the servants of our presence. They had no idea we were coming and were put out by our sudden arrival, to say the least.

After the orderlies had situated Erik in a room on the ground floor and had gone, mother called all the servants into the front hall. There were nine of them altogether.

"Which one of you is Bettina?" Mother stood in a commanding manner, staring expectantly at the staff. A solid, though not stocky, woman of about forty-five raised her hand.

"That's me, Madame."

"Good. You will remain here with my daughter and aid her in nursing my brother. As for the rest of you, until further notice your services will no longer be required. In the morning you will leave this place until you are summoned to return." A general outcry of protest rose from the remaining eight servants. A crusty old, snaggle toothed man with gnarled hands stepped forward, shaking his fist.

"What! Firing us, are you? I won't stand for that! I've lived and worked here for damn near 20 years-"

"Not to worry, monsieur. Your services will only be terminated for a little while, and you will all still receive your pay." That calmed them all down significantly. They scattered and went their separate ways, preparing for their departure in the morning. It was then that my mother's words came back to me. _You will remain here with my daughter and aid her in nursing my brother. _It sounded as though she meant to leave me alone to care for the Phantom! I rushed after her as she went to check on Erik.

"Are you leaving?" I demanded crossly. She gave me a timid smile.

"Oui, in the morning."

"I don't believe this! I didn't even want to be part of this rescue effort in the first place, and now you're telling me that I'm going to be taking care of him _alone_? What's the matter with you?" I was yelling and I didn't care. Mother's eyes widened in alarm and she motioned for me to hush.

"Listen! I made the mistake of telling that _fool_, the Vicomte, about my relationship with Erik. Surely he will initiate a formal inquiry to have him arrested. If I disappear too, don't you think he will put two and two together and come looking for me? No, I must go back to Paris and act as if I know nothing. But you, I can say that you were distraught about what happened and I sent you to stay with family for a while, to spare you any more grief."

I hated to admit it but what she said made sense. She saw that I understood and, with a sigh of relief, embraced me.

"Thank you, Meg. You're so devoted to me…what would I do without you?" I leaned my head against her shoulder and breathed in her familiar lilac perfume.

"Why send all the servants away?" I asked after a moment. "And what's so special about Bettina?"

"I don't trust them. We were lucky that Dr. Morcef bandaged Erik's face, but soon the bandages will come off and they will take tales to town with them about a man with distorted face. Alberta often spoke of Bettina's loyalty. She won't gossip about her new charge, and she's strong enough to be of assistance to you." She took my face into her hands and looked into my eyes.

"I trust you to care for Erik to the best of your ability. I know you'll do what's best."

"Yes…but what if something goes wrong?"

"Send Bettina to the village, have her fetch the town physician- but _only_ if it's an emergency! And don't accept any visitors. Don't worry, Meg. Everything will be fine."

I wanted to believe her but skepticism of my own abilities and reservations in regards to my safety tugged at the corner of my mind.

She left early the next morning along with the eight servants. As I watched her coach roll into the distance all I could think about was that I was virtually alone with a madman.

We'd been at the house for three days and Erik still had not awaken. At first I feared he'd slipped into a coma. Then I heard him speaking in his sleep, muttering Christine's name mostly. It occurred to me that he was still asleep because he didn't _want _to wake up. I tried my best to rouse him; I would take his hand, tell him that he would be all right, he was out of the opera house and could have a normal life now. He would call out for Christine, utter a few sentiments of undying love, then drift back into his heavy, pained slumber. He never seemed to be at ease, even in his deepest sleep.

He'd also spiked a fever. Bettina said it wasn't high enough to do any damage. She'd taken care of Alberta in her final days and possessed some rudimentary skills as a nurse. She told me to bathe his forehead with cool water and to give him plenty to drink. She also prepared some clear chicken broth for him. God knows how long it'd been since he had a real meal, and giving him these liquids was no easy task. I had to tilt his head up with one hand and try to angle the cup into his mouth with the other. Usually he'd sputter most of it out. But he was still alive, so I supposed he was getting some of it.

I changed his bandages regularly and removed the one on his face. Every time Bettina and I would bathe him, I couldn't help but marvel at the exquisiteness of his figure. The well sculpted muscles, the powerful arms and legs…I tried desperately not to stare at his near nakedness, for every time Bettina caught me she would cluck her tongue and mutter something about sin and modesty. Sometimes though, my voyeuristic curiosity got the better of me. In the days that I'd tended him so closely I found my self growing used to his deformities; I'd lightly run my fingers over the bag under his eye, the flattened portion of his nose, the rough red skin. It really wasn't that bad…

As soon as my mother reached Paris she had all of my belongings at the opera house packaged up and sent to me. She also sent a letter:

_Dearest Meg,_

_How are you feeling? I've been so worried about you, I hope you're in a better state than when you left me. _

_It seems that the Opera House will be shut down indefinitely, so I am sending you all of the items that were in your dormitory; also I am sending some of my own things, as I will eventually join you, though it pains me to say that I don't know when that will be. _

_The Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and your dear friend, Christine Daae, were married the day after the Opera House fell. They came to visit me the very night I returned to Paris. The Vicomte is exceedingly concerned about the safety of his new bride and has asked me to assist him in his efforts. I agreed, of course, but I don't imagine I'll be very of much use to him. _

_Christine looked well, though a bit distracted. She sends you her love, as do I, my dear daughter. _

_Love, Mother_

Again I was astounded by the wily craftiness of my mother. I had never known her to be so clever. Of course in asking about my health, she was really asking about Erik's. And I laughed inwardly when I read about her aiding Raoul in his investigations. I wrote her a short note in return, stating that "I" was in the same state as I was when last she saw me, though I hadn't worsened. I also told her that I was sure she'd be very helpful to the Vicomte, indeed.

Two weeks lapsed in a blur. I was adeptly developing my own skills as a nurse with Bettina's guidance. Erik still slept under a mild fever with no moments of true coherence.

One afternoon I was reading the poetry of Robert Browning to Erik (I often read to him, hoping to spark his intellect and rouse him from his endless slumber.) when there was a knock at the door. I told Bettina to send whoever it was away. A few minutes later she returned.

"I tried to send her away but she won't leave. She insists on seeing you." She said, somewhat flustered.

"What does she want?"

"She told me to tell you that her name is Christine." At this Erik stirred, tossing his head slowly from side to side, issuing a soft moan. _That figures, _I thought bitterly.

"Alright, take her to the parlor. I'll be there in a moment."

As I rushed to change into a better dress, I realized that I should have been happy to see my best friend. Instead I was annoyed that she had come at all.

When I reached the parlor she rose from the green velvet divan and embraced me.

"Meg! I've missed you!" She kissed me lightly on the cheek then released me, stepping back to look me over.

"You look well! Your mother said you'd taken ill since that night at the opera house, so I thought I'd pay you a visit. Well, aren't you glad to see me?"

"Of course, Christine… Mother told you I was here?" I asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

"No…"

"Then how did you find me?"

"Don't you remember? My first year at the opera, your mother brought us here on a holiday. It's a splendid house, isn't it? So ornate…anyway, I figured you'd be here." She stood awkwardly, as if she didn't know what to do with herself, then sat back down on the divan and clasped her hands in her lap. I sat across from her in a chair.

"Would you like something to drink? Cocoa?" She nodded uneasily and I called for Bettina, who brought in a tray with a little pot of cocoa and some cookies.

"So, you came alone?" I asked casually. Christine nodded as she sipped her drink.

"Where's Raoul?"

"Oh, he had some business to attend to in London…" She sighed and set her cup noisily down on the table. The gushingly happy façade she'd been sporting had vanished and she wore a grave, determined expression.

"He's here, isn't he, Meg?" My fists clenched as she spoke. I knew that's what she'd been driving at all along.

"_Who's_ here, Christine?" I asked in a low voice.

"You know who I mean…please, just tell me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said tersely. "And I'm suddenly not feeling so well. I think you should leave. Bettina, show _Madame de Chagny _to the door, if you please?" I said sharply, placing great emphasis on her new, married name. I rose to walk out of the room but Christine jumped up and grasped my arm, tightly.

"Meg, no! You _must_ tell me!" She cried, keeping her iron grip on my arm and digging her nails into my flesh. I tried to shake her off but she wouldn't let go. Bettina stood in the doorway, unsure of how to handle this unexpected scuffle.

"Leave us!" I barked at Bettina, though my rage certainly wasn't because of her. She obeyed wordlessly, shutting the door behind her. Christine finally let me go, though she did not back away. I glared at her unabashedly as I rubbed my sore arm.

"Yes! He's here! What do you want with him?" I demanded.

"I just want to see him…to make sure he's alright,"

"Oh!" I scoffed "He's fine, Christine! He's got a seven inch incision in his abdomen, two holes drilled into his skull and a fever he can't wake up from, but he'd just peachy!" Christine gasped and held her pretty hand to her lips.

"What happened to him? Why is he hurt? He wasn't hurt when I left him!" I rolled my eyes and stared at her dubiously.

"You're wrong. He was crushed when you left him. You had to know how desperate he was, how much it hurt him to see you go. He tried to kill himself! If my mother and I hadn't found him, he'd be dead now!" I spat my words at her in a deliberately accusing manner. She stumbled backward until she bumped into the back of the chair. Tears were brimming in her eyes.

"Anyway, why do you care so much _now_? You weren't worried about him when you ripped his mask off in front of hundreds of people! You weren't worried about him when you ran off into Raoul's arms. What's the matter, Christine? Bored with the Vicomte, already?" Sweet Christine's face contorted into an expression of hate. She came forward and slapped me hard across the cheek.

"How dare you say such things to me! What business is it of yours?"

I shoved her away from me roughly.

"It's entirely my business because _I'm_ the one who's brought him back from the threshold of death! Why don't you just leave us alone?"

"'_Us'_?" She narrowed her eyes. "You love him, don't you? You love the Phantom!"

Her accusation was like another slap in the face. It made my heart jump in my chest and I could feel my cheeks burning. Then I grew angry once more.

"Would it matter if I was? What do you know about love? You had love; Erik would have done anything for you, he worshipped you! But you threw it away, and why? Because you found him not to be the beautiful angel you'd imagined him to be?"

"Erik…?"

"Ha! You didn't even know his name! Get out, Christine; you made your choice, live with it! Don't ever come back here, Erik certainly doesn't need you!"

"But, I…Oh!" Christine burst into tears. She went back to the couch, grabbed her purse and hurriedly left the room, never once looking at me. I followed her to the door and slammed it triumphantly as soon as she was out of the way.

My relief was short lived. I headed towards Erik's room to check on him. When I reached the corridor I found _him_ standing there, supporting himself on the wall. His face was deathly pale, eyes wide and bloodshot. A vein that snaked across the deformed half of his face pulsed fiercely and sweat streamed down his forehead.

"Where is she…?" He choked out. He looked wildly past me, I doubt if he even knew I was there.

"No one's here, Erik. Come, lets get you back to bed," I took him by his other arm but he wouldn't move.

"No! I heard her voice! She was here! _Christine_!" He struggled against me but his strength faded quickly. I yelled for Bettina as he collapsed to the floor.

We managed to get him back in bed, though the whole time he called for Christine. I sat next him on the edge of his bed, holding his shoulders steady until he finally passed out from exhaustion. I, too, was exhausted. When I was sure he was asleep I rose wearily and trudged to my own room upstairs, fell into bed and drifted off plagued by an unspeakable sense of unease.

It was still dark when I woke to the sound of a crash. I sat up in bed, trying to figure out where the noise had come from. Did I dream it? I rubbed my eyes sleepily and was about to lie back down when I heard another thud. This time I jumped out of bed and bolted toward the direction of the sound; Erik's room.

When I got there I found that the door was barred, I couldn't get in.

"Erik! Erik, what are you doing? Open the door!"

I could tell by what I heard from within that Erik was not in his right mind. He was walking quickly about the room, speaking in a high and manic tone of voice.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eye! _The level of your eye!" _There was another crash, followed by a burst of deep, mad laughter.

"My God, what is he doing? Bettina! Help me!" I screamed, praying she would here me from her room at the distant end of the house.

"_Bettina!"_ I tried again to open the door, pushing it as hard as I could. I managed to wedge it open by about an inch, enough to see that he had obstructed the entry by moving the dresser in front of it.

"Erik! Let me in!" I tried to shove my hand through the crack, using my newly gained leverage to open it another several inches. I gasped in horror when I saw what Erik was doing. He'd removed all of the bed linens and shredded them into strips, and had braided the strips into a rope. Now he was knotting the rope into a noose. as

"Let you in? You want to come in? No, no, _cheri! _Anyone who enters into my kingdom can never leave it behind! Go, run away! Be free of these angels and demons!" Again he erupted with laughter as he finished the noose.

"Erik, please, don't do this!" He stood up on his bed and swung his rope over the curtain rod. Then he placed the noose around his neck and looked straight at me.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eye!" His mouth was twisted into a broad smile, showing all his teeth, but tears poured down his face. Suddenly Bettina was at my side wearing a frightened expression.

"What's going on?"

"He's going to hang himself! Help me!" Together we were able to ram the door open. Just as we burst in the room, Erik stepped off the edge of the bed and dangled from the curtain rod. All I could hear was the sickening choking sounds he made as he swung back and forth. I felt frozen, but I realized my body was moving of it's own accord. I grabbed a large shard of glass from the lamp that lay broken on the floor and jumped onto the bed. Somehow I was able to saw quickly through the cord and he fell to the ground, gasping. I fell next to him and pried the noose off his swollen neck.

"Why….why won't you…just let me _die_?" He rasped. My own tears were falling now, mingling with his as I leaned over him. How could I save him from himself? Then I remembered the contents of the bag that Dr. Morcef had given my mother. I told Bettina to bring it to me at once. She obeyed, and I took out a small, brown paper envelope of morphine powder. I instructed Bettina to mix it in water. Bettina had to hold his head while I poured it into his mouth- Erik struggled all the while. Finally the drug took effect- he let out a small sigh, his eyes rolled back into his head and he wilted in my arms.

We laid him back in bed, though it was completely bare. I took the rope he'd made and cut it into several smaller ones, then tied his wrists to the bed post.

"Do you think that will hold him?" Bettina asked nervously.

"I hope so…" I felt his forehead with the back of my hand. "God, he's burning up!"

"He's likely overheated from all this excitement, check him again in an hour or so." I nodded absently, watching his chest rise and fall laboriously. Even though he was drugged, agony still shrouded his face.

Bettina bade me to sit in the arm chair that was across the room while she cleaned up broken glass, and the other things that Erik had upset in his rage. As I leaned into the soft cushion, one thought coursed through my mind over and over again; _Christine was right._

I must have dozed off for a while. Suddenly I was aware that Bettina was shaking my shoulder and fretfully calling my name.

"What? What is it?" "His fever- It's hasn't gone down. I think it's gotten worse! Come feel for yourself…" She helped me to my feet and I approached the bed hesitantly, pressing the back of my hand to his forehead. He was sticky with sweat and burning hot.

"You're right, it is worse…" I uncovered him and opened the neck of his dressing gown. Then I took a rag from the basin and rang it out over his face and chest.

"His fever's too high, mademoiselle," She protested. "That won't do any good! I'll go to town, fetch the doctor-"

"No, there's no time! I've got an idea." I quickly unbound his wrists. "Here, you take his legs, I've got his arms. Come on!" We lifted him out of bed and rushed down the hall.

"Where are we going?" Bettina cried as she blindly followed my lead.

"Outside!"

We got Erik out the front door and down the steps. I sucked in an apprehensive breath as I nearly slipped on a patch of ice, but managed to stay upright. We laid him down in the thick snow that covered the grass; Bettina stepped back as I scooped up handfuls of the snow and covered his body with it.

"Are you crazy? He'll die out here!"

"He'll die if we let his brain boil in his skull, we have to break the fever!" Erik was shivering all over, and his lips were turning blue. After several minutes of being buried in the snow I felt his forehead again. It was cool and clammy to the touch.

"Alright, lets get him inside."

An hour later Erik rested in a freshly made bed, wearing a dry gown. His wrists were once again bound to the bed post, though he was still deep within his morphine haze. His brow still felt cool beneath my hand.

"It worked, his fever is broken." I smiled wearily at Bettina. She did not look amused in the least. She shook her head and walked past me, out of the room.

The next morning I found a note tacked onto the pantry door.

_Mademoiselle Giry,_

_I am leaving. Your mother expressed that discretion was crucial in the matters concerning the man for whom you care, and I have no intention of telling anyone what I've seen or heard in the last two weeks. I cannot, however, remain in the same house with him. It was bad enough when he was unconscious- now that he's awake, his face is even more revolting to behold. I agreed to help you nurse him; now that he is recovering I think you can manage on your own. You're a far better nurse than I. Please forgive me,_

_Bettina_

I sighed as I crumpled her note and threw it into the waste basket. I was sad to see her go, though I didn't blame her. She just didn't understand Erik the way I had come to understand him.

I prepared his broth myself that morning and carried it to his room. Though I was once again alone, even more so than when mother had left me, I felt sure of my self this time. Erik would get better. I would see to that.

"Christine, I love you…" I tried once more to sing those words to my beloved angel, but she still wouldn't listen. She hovered in front of me, close enough for me to smell the rose water she wore on her skin but just out of my grasp. Light swirled all around her petite form. She smiled at me slowly and turned away, alighting on shimmering white wings and flying off to heaven. Leaving me to rot in hell…

"Please, Christine! Don't leave me…" My voice cracked as I pleaded uselessly, it had lost all it's melodious beauty. My tongue was stiff and dry in my mouth, my neck ached furiously. I strained my eyes to get a sense of my surroundings and was vaguely surprised; I was not lying at the bottom of my suicide chamber but in a well furnished room. I turned my head, wincing in pain as I did so. There was a full pitcher of clear, fresh water on the table beside me. My throat burned at the sight of it. I tried to reach out but my arms were stuck fast.

_Ah, some new torment. Another corridor in hell. _I thought, reminded of the Greek tales of tortured souls in Tartarus, eternally tormented by hunger and thirst. I laid my head back on the pillow and tried to ignore the dryness of my mouth.

Suddenly light flooded the room and I was aware of another presence. I raised my head again to see what spirit had come to visit. Though time had become a meaningless concept I knew it was a face I'd seen often, a woman with deep blue eyes and golden hair. Christine seldom visited me anymore, but this woman- she was never far from my side. I'd catch a glimpse of her every now and then, leaning over me, tending to me kindly. She'd even venture to touch my accursed face. At first I thought that she, too, was an angel. I supposed that my suicide attempt was successful and somehow I'd ended up in heaven, of all places. Then I remembered what a vile demon I was and realized that this heaven must be a clever hoax, another of the devil's games. Leading me to believe I'd found happiness then ripping it mercilessly away, as _He_ was prone to do.

For some reason, though, this Golden Angel never took off her beautiful mask, never revealed herself to be a fork tongued temptress. Today she was here again, sliding her elegant hand beneath my aching neck and tilting my head, pouring something warm and wet into my lips. I drank it greedily and with each draught gained a little more clarity. When I looked at the Golden Angel again I realized I was looking at Meg Giry.

"Finally awake, are you?" She set the cup aside. "I'll untie your wrists if you promise not to do anything rash, alright? I want you to be comfortable, but if you pull another stunt like you did last night, I'll bind you again." I had no idea what she was talking about but I nodded complacently.

After she untied my wrists she rose and walked to the other side of the room. I watched her as she dipped a white cloth into a basin and rung out the excess water. Then she came back to my side and gently washed my face, going over my brow, down the sides of my cheeks, the line of my jaw, my lips…I sighed contentedly, relaxing into her ministrations. As she moved to the right side of my face horror struck me all at once. My face was uncovered, my wretched ugliness fully exposed. I jerked away from her touch and instinctively covered myself with my hands.

"My mask! Give me my mask!" I cried hoarsely. She sighed.

"No, Erik, no masks. I've been looking at you for two weeks without it, you needn't try to hide now…" She firmly wormed her little fingers up under my hands and pried them away from my face. I was too weak to fight her.

"Two weeks…" The weight of what she said was like a cinderblock on my chest. I remembered…Christine, the touch of her lips, that one kiss…my last kiss…her mass of dark curls against the paleness of her skin and the wedding dress _I _made for her, as she floated into the distance with _him. _It was too much…Why wasn't I dead? Why was I still haunted by this eternal agony? My soul, my heart and my dignity were in ruins; I wept openly, too woeful to care that I had an audience.

"Shhh," Meg reached for my hand but I recoiled from her touch again.

"Don't!" I gasped. After a few moments I managed to pull myself together.

"I suppose this is all your mother's doing?" I asked coldly. She nodded, avoiding my eyes.

"We found you down there…took you to a hospital, then brought you here. You were in a pretty awful state, there was considerable damage to your internal organs, the doctor even had to remove your spleen. And drill holes into your skull to relieve the swelling. You're lucky to be alive."

"Lucky! You call this lucky?" I struggled to raise myself so that we were eye to eye.

"I could have finally been at peace, if not for your mother's relentless meddling! And now it seems she's recruited you to her cause, as well. You both should have just left me there to die!" Meg pursed her lips and shook her head sadly.

"You mustn't speak like that…I know it seems bleak now, but perhaps you were _meant_ to go on living. I believe everything's worked out in your favor, Erik. God's given you another chance for a better life."

I couldn't help it; I burst out in a fit of laughter at her unendurable optimism.

" Meg Giry, prima ballerina turned philosopher!"I chortled spitefully. "Been reading Kierkegaard between ballets, have you? Care to make anymore sanguine postulations regarding my miserable existence? Perhaps you can tell me why _God_ saw fit to put a monster's face on a innocent infant?"

I was doing my best to alienate her, to be as venomous as possible so that she would cease with the kindness that I did not deserve. But the daggers I threw at her seemed to have no effect, no matter how deeply I thrust. She stared at me in a way that reminded me very much of her mother; a pitying, placating gaze that reeked of sympathy. I couldn't stand it.

"Of course it's natural that you blame God for your plight, but do you really think you're justified in doing so?"

I gaped at her contemptuously.

"Look at me!" I growled. "I didn't give myself this face! It was decided before I was born! This God whom you defend deigned to pour acid into my mother's womb, he determined that I was to live as a monster!"

"No! That was _your _decision! You are a capable, able bodied man with four strong, functional limbs. You weren't born shriveled or lame! And what's more, your mind brims with intelligence, depth and beauty! But you've wrapped your entire existence around this one flaw and let it cripple you, let it poison you to the world. You assume that everyone will think you are a monster, so that is what you have become- by your own doing!" As her words hung in the air I sat limply, staggered by their power.

"Go…please…" Was all I could say. She rose but lingered uncertainly, eyeing the cords which had previously bound my wrists.

"Don't worry…It seems that I'm attached to this mortal coil, whether I like it or not."

"Fine. But I'll be back later to check on you. Try not to do anything stupid." I did not acknowledge her little stab at humor.

"Erik?" I raised my eyes reluctantly to hers. She was silent for a moment, struggling with what she wanted to say.

"…let me know if you need anything." She finally blurted, coloring slightly. I nodded blankly and she left, shutting the door softly.

As I eased myself back down to the pillow, I realized that she had thrice called me by name. Her mother was the only other soul alive who knew it, I hadn't even told Christine.

As the Phantom I had power. I could bend and break the laws of physics, logic and morality, unhindered by mortal restrictions. I inspired fear in the weak minded. And as for Christine, the Phantom's mystique had drawn her to me. He intoxicated her senses and while she was drunk on her own fantasies of me, she was entirely mine. The Phantom gave me a hope I had never had before, he let me believe that I could be loved. He was the confidence I lacked. His mask sheltered my deformities. Without him I was just Erik; a marred, empty shell.

Days passed. I didn't care. I lay flaccidly in my unfamiliar bed; Meg came regularly to check on me, tried to talk to me, fed me. I ate what she brought, ignored her conversation, living entirely inside my head. My thoughts dwelled constantly on Christine. I would close my eyes and paint her portrait in my mind over and over again, remembering the curve of her graceful neck, the paleness of her skin, her large dark eyes. Then her voice would echo in my ears and I'd remember our performance together, standing on that platform, twirling her in my arms, holding her tightly against me and breathing in the scent of her hair as I sang of my unquenched desire for her. Each memory was like a needle in my heart. How I ached for Christine!

One morning Meg came in as usual, carrying a tray of food. She sat and watched me as I ate.

"Those stitches need to come out." She gestured to my abdomen. She was right, they were beginning to fuse with my skin, and tore a little bit every time I moved them the wrong way. But I didn't mind the pain.

"I can fetch a doctor from the village to do it, I'll go this afternoon-"

"No!" I said through a mouthful of toast. It was the first time I'd spoken to her since our initial confrontation. It was bad enough that I had to suffer under her gaze day in and day out, I didn't need anymore ogling eyes gawking at me.

"I'll do it myself." I said firmly. She frowned.

"I really think a doctor should do it."

"I'm perfectly capable of removing them." I answered shortly.

"Fine, but I'm helping you."

When I was finished eating she set my tray aside and brought out a large, black leather bag from the closet. Setting it on the bed she extracted a pair of narrow, silver scissors, some iodine and gauze. As she did so I pulled back the blankets, sat up on the edge of the bed and removed the loose, white shirt I wore. When she turned back to me I noticed that her eyes widened, briefly, at the sight of my nakedness. She recovered quickly and set the necessary items on the nightstand.

"Where do you want me?" She asked quietly. I nodded to the spot next to me and she sat down, holding a bowl for me to dispose of the threads as I removed them. I picked up the clippers and pulled out the first thread, grimacing as I did so. A little bit of my skin clung to the stitch and blood trickled down my abdomen. I set the thread in Meg's bowl, noting that her hands were trembling slightly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that a deep red blush had spread up from her neck and was now engulfing her cheeks. I couldn't help but smirk. It was intriguing, knowing that I had that effect on her. Though my face was unbearable to behold, all those years toiling over the construction of my lair, swinging lithely from the rafters of the opera house, dashing from corner to corner to avoid being seen, had cut me a fairly decent form.

I plucked out another stitch, then another. By the time I had finished numerous thin streams of blood streaked all down the front of me. I was about to reach for the gauze but Meg beat me to it. She uncapped the iodine, dampened the gauze with it and pressed it to the tiny wounds. We made eye contact momentarily, then she looked away. I knew she was repulsed by the sight of my demonic profile and my grin faded quickly.

In truth I couldn't take that much credit for her flustered state. She was a good, honorable girl. She obviously had never been in such close proximity to a half naked man. Well, save for that time with the Italian boy in the wardrobe closet. She was thirteen, infatuated, and had managed to sneak off with him for a few moments. I, the all seeing spirit of the Opera Populaire, had seen them and quickly put a stop to their adolescent curiosities. It didn't take much; one good scare had sent them both running out of the closet in opposite directions. I knew Madame Giry wouldn't want her daughter to transform into the opera house floozy, and honestly I had found the whole thing rather amusing. Soon after that the boy left and Meg duly learned to keep her charms to herself.

After a moment she lessened her pressure on my abdomen and peeked beneath the gauze.

"The bleeding's stopped," She said, though her voice was but a whisper. I nodded and began to put my shirt back on.

"Do you want me to wrap it for you?"

"No, it will be fine." Fully clothed once more I handed her the iodine and scissors. She tucked them back in the bag and rose to put it in the closet.

"Thank you…for everything," I said hesitantly. It was odd, conversing normally with another human being. "And I apologize for the distasteful manner in which I spoke to you several days ago…you've been very kind to me…" I groped for the right words, then trailed off.

"It's alright," She said, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as I situated myself in the bed. I was still fairly weak and sitting up for that long had drained what little energy I had. Even though I was tired I realized I didn't want her to leave just yet.

"May I have some water?" I asked gently.

"Oh," She shook her head slightly, as if trying to gather her thoughts, and poured me a glass. She handed it to me and sat in the chair beside the bed. I took a sip then set it down.

"Where is your mother?"

"In Paris. She left the day after we brought you here. She was afraid that Ra…that the police would use her to find you." She was going to say Raoul, but stopped herself for my sake.

"Where exactly is _here_?" I asked, grateful for her discretion. I would be glad to live the rest of my life without ever hearing that name again.

"My great aunt Alberta's manor, just north of Orleans. You certainly are talkative today." She stated plainly. I shrugged.

"So, Meg Giry, what cruel twist of fate has bestowed such a miserable invalid upon you? Repaying an old debt, perhaps?" I asked. She looked shocked by my words for a moment, then realized I was joking. She laughed nervously.

"I suppose so…mother told me that it was you all those years ago, in the stables. At first I was reluctant to help you, as you can well imagine why. But I've come to see that you're not entirely the beast you would have everyone believe you are, Erik." She smiled sweetly. I found myself suddenly unarmed, taken in by her simple kindness. I actually smile back at her. I think she was just as stunned as I was.

"Well, I'd better get your dishes to the kitchen…I'll be back in a little while to check on you, try to get some rest." She moved quickly, taking up the tray and bustling out of the room.

When she was gone I became suddenly aware that, for the first time in nearly a year, for the span of almost an hour, I had not thought about Christine.

My strength gradually returned to me as the days turned into weeks. Soon I was able to get up out of bed for several hours at a time. Usually I spent those hours perusing the immense library on the upper level of the manor, reading volume after volume of literature. Meg would accompany me, and sometimes would ask me to read some of the passages to her.

On one occasion she took me to her great uncle's wardrobe; I was desperately in need of some proper clothing, as I was now up and walking around the house. The suits were opulently made, though about ten years out of date. I selected a tailored black ensemble that looked like it might fit me, save for the pants which I knew would be too short. Meg rolled her eyes when she saw what I had chosen.

"That looks like something he'd have worn to a _funeral_." She exclaimed sardonically.

"I know…" I replied with a satisfied smile. She shook her head and chose several other suits that were less morbidly colored.

I cannot describe how inconceivably strange it was to suddenly be living as a normal human being; taking meals at table with Meg sitting across from me, living in an actual house- not some cave beneath civilization. I'd been a freak show attraction, a ghost and an angel but I can honestly say that this was the single oddest period of my life. The very fact that I was no longer alone, that I had someone to talk to, boggled my mind. Added to that the fact that she looked directly at me, without fear, without loathing…I considered myself an intelligent man, but I could not comprehend the changes that were taking place in the very core of my being.

I think what alarmed me the most was how very little I thought of Christine. That night, when she left me, I _knew_ I would die. I was damned to wander endlessly alone, whether in this life or the next, and there was nothing I could do about it. I thought I would love Christine forever, that hers was the only soul compatible to my own. But now…I had tasted that which I'd always longed for…looking at Meg, I felt as though maybe, perhaps, I could forget Christine altogether. It was already getting harder to recall the sweetness of her voice, her scent, the shade of her eyes…she was fading away from my memory like a doused watercolor painting. And now a new image was taking her place, that of a Golden Angel…

I toyed with the idea of telling Meg that I had feelings for her. I knew it was pointless; she was merely acting out of pity for me, doing her mother's bidding. All her kindness would vanish if I offered myself to her; she would be repulsed, disgusted…

Then another dark thought wormed it's way into my mind. I _couldn't_ allow myself to feel for Meg! Certainly I was reasonable now, but what if I became mad with passion as I had been for Christine- the desire to possess and control what I loved was a tragic flaw in my being. No, I had to protect Meg from myself. Soon I would be strong enough to leave and she'd be free of me. She'd be _safe_.

Meg had taken it upon herself to arrange a sort of regime for my rehabilitation. It began in the early morning with breakfast, then my several hours out of bed, lunch, a rest in the afternoon, dinner and then a walk around the property in the evening.

At first I was reluctant to go outside, away from the protective walls of the manor. Meg insisted that fresh air was essential to my recovery and I finally consented, provided that the walks were taken only at dusk. Somehow the outside seemed safer in the dark. Admittedly, I did find our ambulatory excursions enjoyable; the manor was surrounded by a thick forest and I could walk freely, unperturbed by any gawking eyes.

On this particular evening we walked together in silence. Usually we made light conversation, but this evening there seemed to be something weighing heavily between us. I planned to tell her that I'd be leaving soon.

As we walked my keen ears picked up the sound of leaves rustling in the distance. I glanced at Meg; she didn't act as if she'd heard anything. Suddenly a high, savage howl broke the gentle silence of the night. Meg inhaled sharply and pressed herself close to me, gripping the lapel of my jacket in fear. Her sudden nearness, the smell of her perfumed hair, her hands groping anxiously at my chest…it was too much.

"What was that?" She whispered, the heat of her breath tickling my ear.

"Wolves," I choked out, praying that she couldn't feel the heaving of my chest…or my desire that was steadily growing against the pressure of her little body against mine. Then there was another blood curdling howl.

"They're close, we'd best go inside." I moved away from her and turned toward the direction of the house but she still clung to my arm as we walked.

When we stepped into the house, into the light, I could see that she was badly shaken. Her skin was pale and she shuddered uncontrollably.

"Are you alright?" I questioned. She gazed at me with wide, bewildered eyes.

"I think…I need to sit down." I nodded and guided her to the parlor, where she sat down on the divan. I went to the bar and poured her a glass of red wine, vaguely wondering why she was so upset. The wolves hadn't been that near…

"Here, this will make you feel better." She accepted the wine gladly and drank it all in one draught. Then she leaned back against the green cushions with a sigh and closed her eyes. I took the seat farthest away from her. I had to force myself to look away, look away from the flesh of her throat, the little dark freckles that dotted her cleavage, look away from her breasts straining against the fabric of her dress. I buried my face in my hand and chewed the inside of my cheek violently.

"I have something for you," Her voice snapped me back to reality and I looked up to find her staring at me.

"Oh…?" She nodded, drew a white bundle from the pocket of her dress and leaned forward to hand it to me. I took it gingerly; it was a handkerchief, folded around something small and hard. I knew immediately what it was. Christine's ring. I unwrapped it, looked ruefully at the sparkling jewel for a moment, then tucked it into my breast pocket.

"I took it off you in the hospital so that it wouldn't be stolen."

"Thank you." I said, not meeting her eyes.

"You still love her?" Meg asked boldly. "I…that's really none of your business." I retorted more sharply than I meant to.

"She was a fool, Erik…she should have chosen you," Her voice was low and she twirled her fingers in the material of her skirt as she spoke in an almost brazen manner. It had to be the wine going to her head. Could she…? No! I wouldn't even think it…

"I have to leave," I blurted out suddenly as I nearly jumped to my feet.

"Oh, goodnight, then."

"No…I mean _leave_…tomorrow morning, at first light." Her eyes narrowed angrily as she began to comprehend what I was saying.

"What? Why?" She demanded poignantly.

"I'm well now, you needn't be burdened anymore…it's time we went our separate ways." She smirked cynically and shook her head, making her blond hair fall in a pleasing way around her shoulders.

"And what if I don't want to go my own way?" She rose from the divan and approached me slowly. Helpless, I devoured her with my eyes. She saw my reaction and smiled in triumph.

"Erik," She was directly in front of me now, sliding her hands up my chest and wrapping them around my neck. I stood rigidly, trying with all my might not to pull her into an embrace.

"No, Meg…please…" I breathed desperately.

"I love you." Her voice was like honey, her touch like a warm, gentle breeze. No one, not a single soul, had _ever_ spoken those words to me! As a child I prayed that one day I might be lucky enough to hear them. Now that I finally had, it was as if triggered a series of explosions in my brain. My mind raced with a million jig-sawed thoughts, visions I couldn't control; the two of us making love between white silken sheets, our bodies entwined…a wife like everybody else has, taking her out on Sundays…a family portrait; Meg dressed prettily and wearing a sweet smile, I with my sparse hair and ghastly grin and our clan of ghoul faced children surrounding us, clinging to us like maggots…I was near delirium! Drunk on the three words I told myself I would never, ever hear…but I could not allow this to happen! I was a madman, a monster, a killer! How could I love her properly, how could I deem to touch her porcelain skin with blood on my hands! I had to protect Meg!

She was about to press her lips to mine but I pushed her roughly away. She tripped over the oriental rug and fell on her rump. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and rage as she glared up at me.

"Don't touch me, you miserable little fool!" I growled. "Don't touch me!" I resolved to once again use my venomous wrath to repel her affection. It was the only tool I had left at my disposal.

"I'm leaving, _tomorrow. _I tire of your trite companionship." I turned sharply to exit. Something hard slammed into the middle of my back then thudded to the floor. She had quickly jumped to her feet and thrown a book at me as hard as she could.

"You ungrateful bastard! You idiot! You whine and moan, 'nobody loves me! The world hates me! Oh, I'm going to die alone!' but when love is staring you straight in the face, you turn away!" I spun around and put that face of which she spoke inches away from hers, snarling as dreadfully as I could manage. She jumped back, in spite of herself.

"I want none of your pity or your _love._ I love only Christine." For the first time that statement was a lie. I loved Meg furiously, even more so in these last few moments. But I had to preserve her from myself. She looked utterly shattered, like a child receiving it's first real beating, staring at me with tears in her red rimmed eyes. I raised my chin and looked down at her coldly. She wiped the tears away furiously and brushed past me, out of the room. Moments later I heard a door slam. I let out an agonized sigh and bent to pick up the book she had hurtled at me. Glancing at the title, I noted with much irony that it was a copy of Ovid's _Metamorphoses. _

"I wish I could change for you, Meg…" I set the book on the end table and tread heavily out of the parlor.

Several hours later I lay restless in bed, hearing over and over again the words Meg had so tenderly whispered in my ear.

"_Erik…I love you" _Every time I closed my eyes I saw her anguished face after I'd verbally slapped her. I knew I'd be getting no sleep this night. It occurred to me that I should go ahead and leave, in the cover of darkness. That way there wouldn't be another chance for her to offer her love to me, nor for me to breakdown and accept it.

I rosehurriedly put on my jacket and trousers. I didn't want to leave wearing clothes that didn't belong to me but they were all I had. After I was dressed I opened my door slowly and crept down the hall, so as not to rouse Meg's suspicion. As I stepped out of the house I was tempted to turn back, to run to her side and beg her forgiveness. But no, it could not be.

The night was cold and I had no overcoat. I walked quickly and erratically through the snow, trying as best as I could to leave a trail Meg would be unable to follow.

I'd been walking for at least thirty minutes, and was well into the forest, when I heard the unmistakable sound of hoof beats coming from the direction of the house.

"No…" I groaned through clenched teeth.

"_Erik!"_ Her voice was far away but she was definitely on my trail. I ducked behind some shrubbery, hoping she wouldn't be able to spot me in the dark. As I strained to listen, trying to determine just how far she was from my location, I heard another sound that filled me with dread. The rustling of leaves under deft, nimble paws. I knew instantly that the wolves were stalking her.

"Meg, turn back! The wolves!" I shouted as loudly as I could, praying she would hear me. I was too late. There was a brief, deadly silence, which was broken by her terrified screaming and the snarling of the wolves.

"Meg!" I ran as hard and fast as I could, following her cries. I reached her just as the horse she rode reared up and threw her to the ground. Free of it's burden, the beast galloped away to safety, leaving Meg to the growling dogs that encircled her. Then, all at once, they were upon her- snarling and gnashing and clawing mercilessly.

"No!" I snapped a thick branch from a nearby tree and ran madly at the them, swinging it and bellowing senseless vocalizations in the loudest, deepest voice I could muster. I managed to club several in the head, breaking my way through the pack, placing myself between them and Meg. I glanced quickly at her; she was prostrate in the snow, I couldn't tell how badly she was injured. I turned back to the wolves, who had regrouped and now stared angrily at me. The hugest of them, undoubtedly the alpha, approached me slowly, walking low the ground and bearing his yellowed fangs. I looked straight into his black eyes; I felt no fear, only the desire kill the beasts who harmed my love.

The brute lunged for my throat, knocking me flat on my back, overpowering me with his weight and foul breath in my face. He was about to clamp down on my neck but I managed to swiftly weave my arms past his muscular forepaws; seizing the opportunity I plunged my thumbs deeply into his eye sockets. He gave a great wail and released me, staggering backward toward his pack. He growled madly and frothed at the mouth, snapping his iron jaws blindly in all directions. I leaped to my feat and apprehended him from behind. Squeezing his mouth shut with one hand and gripping his neck with the other I gave it a powerful twist. There was a sickening crunch of bones as his vertebrae cracked under my grip and he stilled instantly in my arms. I stood and released him, letting him fall into a grey, limp heap in the snow. Retrieving my branch I turned to the rest of the pack. The still stood ready to attack, though none moved to do so. I charged at them, swinging the branch over my head. They made a feeble attempt to strike, though after a few good blows with the stick I had them all running, unwilling to meet the same fate as their leader.

I stood guard for several moments more. The only sound I could hear was my own ragged breathing. When I was certain they were gone I ran to Meg, rolling her over on her back. She was unconscious.

"Meg?" I shook her by the shoulders. She moaned softly but did not come around. With great relief I noted that the dogs had not torn her neck. She bled all over though, from a multitude of abrasions, including one particularly deep wound on the calf of her right leg; it was impossible to tell just how badly she was hurt under the dark veil of night. Cursing loudly, I took of my jacket and wrapped it around her, lifted her into my arms and ran back to the manor.

I have no memory of how long it took me to reach the house, burst through the door, or climb the stairs that led to her room. I only remember rushing to retrieve the black doctor's bag she'd stowed in my closet, then hastening back to her bedside.

After careful examination, it appeared that the worst of her wounds was the bite on her calf. There were four deep puncture wounds on either side of the leg, oozing with blood. She had no lacerations to the trunk, but her arms bore many cuts of varying depth- defense wounds. And there was one long, thin gash on her left cheek that ran from the outer corner of her eye and nearly reached her mouth. I smiled gratefully and reached out to stroke her unwounded cheek. She was hurt, but she would live.

Meg finally woke a few minutes later as I was debrieding the wound on her calf of the bits of wolf hair, leaves and dirt it had accumulated.

"How bad is it?" Her voice was weak, her face sallow.

"Not very. You won't be able to walk for a while, but you'll heal." I wanted to kiss her, to take her into my arms and tell her how glad I was that she was alive. Instead I put on a harsh face and continued working on her leg.

"It was incomparably stupid of you to venture out in the dead of night like that, when you _knew_ there were wolves about." I admonished her icily.

"You were out there, too." She abruptly replied. I finished dressing her injury in silence.

"My arm hurts. I think I landed on it when the horse threw me," She said as I dabbed iodine on the rest of her cuts.

"Sit up." I commanded gruffly. Wearing a pained grimace she raised herself. I took her arm in my hands and extended it, prodding up and down with my fingers to detect any breaks.

"It isn't broken." I released her arm and took up the iodine once more, reaching for the slash on her face. She winced as I pressed the cloth to her cheek.

"Is my face cut?" She demanded anxiously. I nodded.

"I want to see it." She pointed to the dresser across the room. Following her gaze I saw that she pointed to a silver hand mirror that lay on the dresser. I retrieved it for her, instinctively covering it to hide my image and smiling ruefully to myself. Of course she would fear that her beauty was marred. Vanity of vanities, all of life is vanity…

To my utter disbelief, she _smiled_ when she looked upon her reflection, tracing the laceration with the tip of her finger. She handed the mirror back to me with satisfaction and asked,

"Well, Erik? Now am I worthy of your love?" I rubbed my forehead in bemusement and stared back at her.

"What?…Woman, are you mad?" I wanted to shake her, to scream that she didn't need to scar herself, that I already loved her. Instead I rose and put the iodine and extra bandages back in the bag, avoiding her expectant stare.

"Get some rest," I muttered, heading for the door.

"Do you still intend to leave?"

I paused, my hand clenching the door knob.

"Yes."

"You'd leave me alone in this state? I know you can't stand my 'trite companionship' but you could at least condescend to stay a little while longer. I'll remind you that _I _care for _you _in your time of need!" She shrilled.

"Your mother can take care of you." I responded. She rolled her eyes in an exasperated manner.

"She's in Paris, fending off Raoul's agents. They watch her every move. If she comes here they'll follow her and find you."

"I'll be gone before they get here."

"Oh, and leave me unaided until she arrives?" She challenged crossly. I said nothing.

"Fine, go. I don't need you." Childishly she crossed her arms and turned her face away from me. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth; Meg Giry: prima ballerina, philosopher _and_ master of reverse psychology.

"I'll stay, but only until your leg heals and you can care for yourself."

I tried to care for her as detachedly as I could manage, brining her food and changing her bandage in silence, then exiting quickly. But on the third day of our role reversal she began to question me as I redressed her punctured calf.

"So, Erik…were you born to the gypsies?" Her query came out of nowhere. She'd obviously discussed my origins with her mother.

"I…no." I replied simply, hoping it would be enough to satisfy. Of course, it was not.

"Well, where did you come from then? I'd like to know." I sighed in resignation; it seemed there was no avoiding conversation today.

"I was born in Marseilles. My mother was a washerwoman, I never knew my father."

"How did you get separated from her?"

"I ran away. She was horrid to me; she'd beat me for no reason, humiliate me in front of her friends, deprive me of food for days…by the time I was eight I'd had my fill, so I ran. I knew she wouldn't look for me. In fact, she was probably relieved I was gone. I traveled north for several days, moving only at night so that no one would be able to see my face. One morning, as I slept beneath a bush, I was discovered by a band of gypsy men foraging for food. They captured me, put my on display…I think you know the rest of my story from there." She nodded and didn't burden me with anymore questions.

Three weeks went by. Meg's calf had healed nicely, though there would certainly be some scarring, and she was able to walk steadily on it. As she healed she grew increasingly despondent; she knew I'd be leaving soon. When she was finally able to walk up and down the stair unassisted I decided it was time.

As we dined together one evening I told her I'd be leaving in the morning, that she no longer needed me.

"Where will you go?" Her voice was flat and empty.

"North, most likely." I said wistfully. "Perhaps to Norway…find a nice cave to live in. One _above_ ground, this time." My halfhearted attempt at a joke failed miserably. Meg lowered her eyes to her plate and said nothing. A few moments later she dropped her fork, shoved her plate away and left the table.

I hated hurting her like this. I hated knowing that, come tomorrow, I'd be alone again. I kept telling myself that it had to be done, that it was for her own good. I laughed joylessly as I remembered that cliché- if you truly loved something, it was best to let it go. I would let Meg go. She would move on with her life, find someone worthy of her heart. And I would retreat into the bowels of the earth where I belonged.

That night a storm raged through the forest. Once again I found myself unable to sleep. I got out of bed and paced about the room, finally coming to stand before the window. Absently I watched as lightning shot through the sky and the wind battered the trees. Though the thunder boomed and crashed, my wired senses and keen ears pricked at the sound of my door slowly opening. I stood frozen in place, the hairs on the back of my neck bristled as I listened to the muffled sound of Meg's footfalls as she advanced across the room. Wordlessly she reached out, sliding her hands down the length of my back, then reaching around my chest. I swooned as she hugged herself tightly against my back, resting my head against the cool glass of the window.

"Please don't go," She murmured.

"Meg…" I tried to put together some sort of coherent strain of thought. "You don't want me…you deserve so much more…someone better than me…"

"No…"

"I've killed," I continued. "I've done unspeakable things…I don't deserve your love." My heart was burning in my chest. Perhaps she knew, for she began to caress me lightly through my shirt.

"I don't care about that…they treated you like an animal, the people you've killed. It's not your job to dispense justice, but I don't blame you for doing so. You think you're a demon, but I've seen inside you, Erik! You're not a demon…you're not an angel, either. You're a man- your face may be blighted but your soul is beautiful, and I love you. I think we could be happy together, I don't care if you still love Christine. Maybe I could make you forget…" Her voice trailed off as she nuzzled against my shoulder. I released my grip on the window pane and took her tiny hand in mine, raising it to my lips.

"You already have," I couldn't fight anymore. In a sudden epiphany I realized- I loved Meg tremendously and she loved me…I didn't _need _to possess her, for she gave herself willingly to me. I kissed her hand fervently, then turned round to look at her. Another bolt of lightning blasted through the sky. As the light danced on her face she smiled up at me. I gingerly ran the back of my hand down her jaw line, then traced her lips with my thumb. She kissed it sensuously, causing my heart to beat wildly against my chest. I lifted her chin and kissed her mouth, delighting in the sensation of her body against mine as she wound her arms behind my neck, gently grazing the base of my skull with her fingernails. I encircled my arms around her waist and pulled her even closer, no longer trying to hide my longing for her.

She gasped against my mouth. Our embrace deepened intensely as her lips parted for mine. I kissed her hungrily, turning around and pressing her against the window. Our hands roamed over each other's bodies of their own accord. She suddenly tugged my shirt up over my head. The feel of her hands against my skin nearly brought me to my knees. I pulled away from her lips for a moment so that I could look into her eyes. Her breath came in ragged pants as she looked back at me. I stared steadily into her eyes as I slid my hands down, reaching for the hem of her nightgown, pulling it up to her thighs. Then I slipped my hands beneath the thin fabric, guiding them slowly over her hips, her waist…the heavens seemed to open as I cupped her breast and my heart thudded with even more furor as I discovered she wore nothing beneath the nightgown. She moaned and closed her eyes. The sound of her voice- throaty, impassioned- made me forget myself entirely. I yanked the gown up over head, glided my hands down her back to her bottom and lifted. She wrapped her legs around my waist and I carried her to the bed.

She kneeled on the soft coverlet as I stood before her. We kissed again. I only indulged upon her lips momentarily, I was ready to explore the rest of her body. I bent to caress her neck with my mouth, moving to her collar bone, down between her breasts, her abdomen…she nearly shrieked when I darted my tongue inside her bellybutton. I returned to the haven of her lips as she unbuttoned my pants, stepping out of them eagerly I crawled into the bed with her. She pulled me down on top of her, smothering me with her kisses. Hot tears sprang to my eyes as she kissed the ruined half of my face, I couldn't help it. She held me so tenderly, looked at me so lovingly, I felt as if my whole life had been wasted up until this point. She was everything to me.

I sat up, pulling her up with me into my lap so that we were face to face.

"I love you…God, I love you!" I panted breathlessly. She smiled, her eyelids half closed, and leaning forward brushed her soft lips across the leathery, ruddy skin of my right cheek. I moved my hand down to the most sacred part of her being. Her breath caught in her throat at my touch and she grasped my shoulders tightly as my hand moved against her, my own desire pressing insistently into her thigh.

"Erik!" I quickened my pace and her whole body stiffened. Then she went limp in my arms. I laid her gently down and kissed her again. At first she didn't respond but gradually she opened her mouth to mine, kissing me with a longing that matched my own.

Then came that blissful moment, what I never dreamed I'd be privileged enough to experience. Her legs wrapped around my waste again and I entered what had to be the gates of heaven. I cried out loudly as we were joined, my body alight with a heightened awareness…the colors, the smells, the sounds…the _music_! The striking of violins as I thrusted, a flute to match her melodious moanings. For so long my ears had been dead to the notes that used to come readily to me…but I could hear again, and it was as if I'd never truly heard anything before. The music of Meg's body was a symphony greater than anything I could have written. As we crescendoed together I inwardly applauded this masterpiece, my love.

Minutes, perhaps hours later I lay in her arms. Maybe I had dozed off, I don't really know, but I was awake and aware of something odd and unfamiliar bubbling out of my chest. It was laughter. Actual, jovial laughter. Yet another first for the night.

Meg quickly joined in my uncontrollable glee- we were kissing, laughing, making love again…it was dawn before we finally took a moment to rest.

I laid on my back with one arm resting beneath my head, smiling in what had to be an idiotic manner. Meg lay on her side gazing at me. I held her hand directly over my heart.

"Did you and Christine ever…" She asked quietly, her voice trailing off. I shook my head.

"No…I've never been with anyone before tonight." She sighed happily and I pulled her close, cradling her against me.

"Me neither…" She murmured.

"….What about Vittorio?" I asked innocently. She sat bolt upright and looked down at me, eyes wide with shock.

"Vittorio! How on earth did you know about that? It was you who frightened us, wasn't it?" She demanded, jabbing my chest sharply with her finger.

"Guilty as charged." I smirked, remembering the look on her face as she skidded out of the wardrobe closet.

"You fiend! You scared me half to death that day!" She grabbed a pillow and smacked me in the face. I ripped it from her hand and threw it across the room, sending white and grey feathers into the air like confetti. Then I pulled her down on top of me and kissed her, resolving to make her forget about dear old Vittorio.

Several weeks later Madame Giry sent an urgent letter, summoning her daughter to return to Paris, offering no explanation as to why.

I sat dully on the bed as Meg packed a traveling bag. I hated the thought of being parted from her, even if it was only temporarily. She didn't look any happier than I was.

"I'll come back as soon as I can. You know that, don't you?" She asked worriedly. I smiled peacefully up at her.

"I know."

She clicked her bag shut. I rose to carry down the stairs for her.

"Are you going to tell your mother about us?" I asked as we meandered slowly down, taking our time.

"Yes."

"You don't think she'll be upset?"

" No, I don't think she will…In fact, I rather think she might have known this was going to happen." She said with a little chuckle. I had to agree. Madame Giry was a wise, mysterious woman, who cared deeply for both of us.

Meg lingered at the front door, unwilling to leave just yet. I gave her a deep, powerful kiss, then clutched her tightly against my chest. After a moment she spoke against my neck.

"Erik, while I'm there, I was thinking…do you want me to see if I can find your score? We could take it somewhere else, Italy, Russia-"

"No." I said firmly. "That place worked a strange trick on me, Meg. I don't ever want to go back to that opera house, nor do I want any of my former possessions. Besides," I smiled as I stroked her cheek. "I've got an idea for a new score."

"Really?" Her voice rang with excitement. "That's wonderful, Erik! What will you call it?"

"_The Song of the Golden Angel_" I said with great emphasis. A single tear fell down her cheek as she grasped my meaning. She kissed me once more.

"I love you, Erik." She turned and walked quickly out the door to the carriage that waited in the drive. I watched from the window as she climbed in and drove away, sighing when I could no longer see it. I was alone again, but not lonely. A great weight had been lifted and I realized that I could have what everyone else had. I could be _happy. _

I planned to ask Meg to marry me when she returned. The only ring I had to give was the one I'd meant for Christine. I decided immediately not to venture there…Meg deserved her own ring, not some recycled relic that belonged in the past.

I walked purposefully to the room that I now shared with Meg, sitting down at the vanity where she brushed her hair every night.

"Hello," I feebly greeted myself. As I stared at my reflection, I realized that I no longer loathed what I saw. Perhaps since Meg had seen some worth in me, I was able to see it as well. I picked up a comb and fix my sparse hair to the best of my ability. Then I rose, straightened my collar, and headed for the front door.

As I stepped outside, into the light, I noticed for the first time how pleasant it was to feel the sun upon one's face. I breathed in the fresh air. The snow had melted, it would be spring soon. After a moment I took another deep breath and began walking in the direction of the village. I meant to find the town jeweler to inquire about an engagement ring.

_Epilogue_

Meg and I were married that summer. A year later she was with child. My old fears returned at the prospect of brining a product of my blood into the world. I feared the baby would be as badly disfigured as me, or worse. Nine months passed like lightning and on one cold March night Meg gave birth to a baby boy- a _perfect_ baby boy. My worries were dispelled and, two year later, Meg bore another child, this time a girl.

My heart sank as I held her in my arms that first time; I saw that my little angel had a lazy eye. My tears ran down upon the baby's forehead, baptizing her into the misery I'd known all my life. I handed her apologetically into Meg's open arms. She cooed lovingly at her new daughter, kissed the eye over which I had cried, and held the girl as dearly as she'd held our boy when he was born. It was then that I knew that this child would never know a fraction of the wretchedness I'd been subjected to as a child, for she had not one but two parents who loved her, unconditionally.

We grew old and grey together, watched our babies grow into beautiful adults, then have children of their own. I was blissfully happy, and never took one moment of our lives together for granted.

When I learned that Christine had died I was struck with a pang of sadness. It was then that I'd remembered the old ring that I'd tucked away so long ago. It seemed right that she should have it now, a token of the past, a symbol of forgiveness. After all, if not for the tumultuous affair with Christine, I might never have known the love of Meg.

I journeyed with Meg to Paris. I wasn't afraid of being recognized anymore, old age had withered my face in such a way that my deformities were hardly discernable. We went to the old cemetery and stood before Christine's grave reverently. Meg reached out and affectionately touched the oval portrait. I bent slowly to deposit my gift; a red rose with the ring around the stem. We were silent for a moment, each recalling the events of the past. Then we walked arm and arm back to our automobile. As we drove out of the cemetery we passed another vehicle that entered. I caught a glimpse of the passenger- an old man like myself, creased and haggard with the passage of time. He looked familiar, but I couldn't place him... I shrugged the odd feeling away and gave my wife quick peck on the cheek. She giggled, sounding like a girl again, and patted my thigh affectionately.

"Want to fool around when we get back to the hotel?" I asked, suggestively arching my brow.

"Of course, Erik…if you think you'll be able to stay awake that long." Was her saucy reply.

I laughed heartily, something I was well used to doing by now, and wondered how I could have lived so many years without knowing that simple pleasure.

THE END.


End file.
